


Coffee

by windingknees (sunshinecryptid)



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Drugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 05:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18584692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinecryptid/pseuds/windingknees
Summary: For a moment, I imagine we're somewhere else. Somewhere where I don't get insanely fucking high on week nights to forget the bruises decorating my stomach, and where I make Brendon laugh instead of making him sad.





	Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> streams of consciousness from helluva trip.

A cafe. coffee. Coffee. I get coffee. Seven pumps of cinnamon and sugar please. Extra extra dark. Guacamole? None? The woman looks at me her face is blurry. I grin. I walk away. I drink the coffee. it’s dark. I hate dark coffee. I spit it out. It’s delicious.

I sit down at a table. It’s meant for two, but I. Am alone. I don’t care. I drink my coffee. It's gross. I look around. The coffee spills on the table. It looks like blood, so I laugh. The woman walks over to me. Are you okay? I stare at her earrings. They’re the color of the coffee. Yes, I’m perfect. I leave the coffee on the table. Wait! I don’t wait. I leave the cafe. I stare at my shoes. The coffee’s on my shoes. I touch them. Wet.

I love Brendon. I tell someone. I sit on the sidewalk. Cold. Cold. Cold. Ryan! It’s Brendon. Why’s he here? He holds my arm and says something. I stare at his face and pull out a smile from my pocket. He doesn’t give one back. His lips tilt down. His pretty, pretty lips. Lovely, lovely. Divine. You're on something? I nod, yes. I’m on something. I'm on the sidewalk. His lips tilt even more. I reach out and push them back to their normal position. He doesn’t do anything.

Come on. Lets get you home. He smiles. No! I shake my head. No. No. no. I cannot go Home. Home is orange and blue and sharp like knives. I twist away from him. My home, he says. He holds my hand. Let’s go. I go. We walk. I scuff my shoes on the ground. The ground is fuzzy. He has his bag. He has my bag too. I want my bag back, but he doesn’t listen. We get. In a taxi.

It smells like the shoe store. Four blocks away from my house. I laugh. Then I cry because when I go to the shoe store, Dad doesn’t let me get the shoes I want. Never. Never. I tell Brendon this. He looks sad. Don’t be sad I tell him. You don’t be sad he tells me. I laugh. Thats just what I am, honey. He grabs my hand again. It’s shaking, but now it isn’t.

Hours pass. Days. Brendon says ten minutes. We arrive at Brendon's home. He opens the door. I run to his room. He shouts after me. His bed. It smells like him. He’s there. I grab him as I flop down on it. He laughs.

It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard, and for a moment, I imagine we're somewhere else. Somewhere where I don't get insanely fucking high on week nights to forget the bruises decorating my stomach, and where I make Brendon laugh instead of making him sad, and where I can get whatever shoes at the shoe store I want. And where Home is soft silky yellow and bright pink, and my coffee doesn't look like blood.

The moment is over. I kiss. Him he doesn’t kiss me back. I move away from him but he grabs my arm before I can. It’s cause you’re high. And you’re drunk. I think.

I know. I love you. He shakes his head. I touch his cheek. It’s wet. I frown. You worry me so much. He sniffs.

I wipe his tears. I love you Brendon. He doesn’t say anything. Then he says. I love you too, Ryan. He lays his head on my chest. I love you so much, Ryan. You’ll be the death of me, Ryan. I kiss his forehead. He says. Go to sleep. And I obey.


End file.
